


cloaked in death's armor

by penhaligon



Category: Ghost of Tsushima (Video Game)
Genre: Comes Back Wrong, Gen, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:02:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28497990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penhaligon/pseuds/penhaligon
Summary: Some say the Ghost is a goryō, and yet, here before them, he lives and breathes.
Relationships: Jin Sakai & Yuna, Jin Sakai/Yuna
Comments: 10
Kudos: 29





	cloaked in death's armor

It's the screaming that wakes Takeko, that has her clambering off her mat in time with the thudding drumbeat of her heart. She's stumbling through the names of everyone on the farmstead before she concludes that only an animal could make that sound, and it takes her a few moments of stumbling through the house to know it beyond a hunch.

Only Yasu leaps up and chases at Takeko's heels, roused by the sudden movements. No one else stirs, even though there is hardly room to move between the mats. No one else wakes.

Outside, the last vestiges of the storm retreat, slick droplets and restless wind and distant echoes of thunder left in its wake. Outside, Takeko sees no animal in the dim gray, and Yasu does not go tearing ahead in reckless pursuit of prey, even though a foxlike wailing carries on the heavy air.

Takeko's feet meet wet grass as she makes for a gap in the low stone walls, following the sound. A wild, thoughtless, fearful excitement continues to shudder within her chest, as she begins to wonder what she is doing, when the island is not yet free of invaders. Why is she out here by herself under the storm-streaked sky of early morning, with only a pup for company? Where are the foxes that scream like so, and why does the wind rush in her ears, even though the storm has since passed?

Then Yasu barks and leaps ahead, past the yew and over the hostas, and Takeko sees a shadow, darker than the distant gray of the Old Woodsman's Canopy, limping down through restless fields of pampas grass.

 _Mongol,_ is Takeko's first thought, a hand clenching around her mother's knife that she now keeps always at her side, then, hoarse and raw, "Yasu, no!"

But the dog doesn't listen. She rarely does, no matter how hard Takeko has worked to teach her, and a nauseating fear grips Takeko's throat. Her pace quickens to frantic, and she runs with abandon, knife in hand, across the sloping ground and dirt road. It doesn't matter that she is only a girl. It doesn't matter that Mongols have already killed her father, aunt, cousins. They will not kill her dog.

But Yasu isn't aggressive, and the shadow doesn't lunge. It stops and sways, like pampas in the wind, and Takeko's pace across the field slows from a sprint to a jog, as fear and exertion burn in her chest. Yasu approaches the figure with her tail whipping back and forth, before it droops down to curl against her legs as she slows and sniffs cautiously ahead. The shadow -- the man -- stares down at her, still lurching like an uncle drunk on sake.

No fox shrieks and chitters anymore, and no wind blows harder and louder than Takeko's thoughts. The man is clad in black, his face obscured by a mask, and finally Takeko understands what she is looking at.

The man collapses, face down in the grass.

Takeko breaks into a sprint again, and within seconds, she is at the Ghost's side.

The grass and ground beneath him is already stained a color turned dark and ugly by the gray of pre-dawn, the same color blotting the side of his head and his visible skin. There is something wrong with his leg, something that makes Takeko's stomach turn and heave. She stops herself from retching, and Yasu whines, nosing at the Ghost. Takeko follows the scent too, reaching out to touch the armor where Yasu points, and her fingers brush against wet, darker and stickier than the damp of rains now passed.

The Ghost's breath rasps out of him, shuddering with the effort. His eyes remain closed.

As is custom, Takeko's voice remains locked within her throat. Not even Yasu's pitiful whining can coax it out.

So Takeko gets to her feet and runs.

* * *

"He should be dead," Takeko's grandmother says, later.

Takeko isn't sure who the words are meant for. Grandmother talks to herself often these days, like she's making up for all of the words that Takeko hasn't said. No one answers, even though another cousin is in the room, and there are farmhands hovering at the windows. Most of the farmstead has drifted by and eavesdropped, all of them far too interested in their new guest to have any shame about the way they peer through the windows and listen at the doors.

But Takeko had been the one to find him. Takeko had saved the Ghost, and so she hasn't been asked to leave and go to her duties.

Grandmother gives her an odd look before speaking again. "He shouldn't have been able to walk here," she says, wondering, wrinkled hands steady as she gathers her supplies, setting aside those that remain clean. Sōta helps to tuck each implement away. "The bone snapped." A few whispers rise outside, just as curious. "And these injuries..." Grandmother shakes her head.

"Maybe not in front of--" Sōta says, then stops, his eyes straying to where Takeko sits perched at the Ghost's side. Yasu is pressed close, curled into a ball, always an enduring warmth beside Takeko.

Something pained and sad settles on Grandmother's face. She is often sad, when she looks at Takeko, and she bundles the bloodstained healer's supplies under an arm and rises stiffly to her feet. Her grandchildren know better than to offer a helping hand, here.

"All we can do for now is wait," Grandmother says to Takeko. "Stay with him. Come get me if something changes."

Takeko nods, and it seems to please Grandmother, if only a little. She leaves with a last long look in Takeko's direction, and Sōta follows.

The Ghost is as dry and clean and bandaged as he can be, tended to with medicine, with the steady hands of Takeko's grandmother and the uncertain, learning hands of Takeko's cousin. The Ghost has a face under the mask. It is not a demon's face, but it is bright with the sheen of fever. His eyes are closed, and he lies too still, on a spare mat in their back room. Still like the dead.

Grandmother's face had been dire, when the farmhands had carried the Ghost inside. She'd thought he was going to die. She'd worked with the same hopelessness that hadn't saved Takeko's father, and yet...

Some say the Ghost is a goryō, and yet, here before them, he lives and breathes.

Voices whisper outside the windows, but curiosity trickles away slowly, until it is only Takeko left, watching over the Ghost. She holds her knife in her hands and folds her legs beneath her, with Yasu alert at her side. The Ghost's mask rests in a pile with his other things nearby, and Takeko studies it in the growing light, comparing demonic black clay to battered face. It is difficult to find a resemblance, and Takeko wonders if the mask possesses some transformative power.

Grandmother would tell her not to entertain such notions.

But Takeko wonders nonetheless, and holds her knife tightly, as she sits her watch.

* * *

It isn't long before footsteps pound through the house.

Takeko already knows that something is wrong. The hackles along Yasu's back are raised, her ears pinned and her teeth bared, and there are voices in the distance, loud and urgent, even before Sōta comes rushing into the room.

"Mongols," he gasps. "We have to hide him."

The Mongol leader is dead -- by the Ghost's hand, they say -- but the invaders remain. Who else would have cut the Ghost down to the bone? They have been here before, and now Takeko's father and aunt and cousins are gone. She doesn't know where Grandmother is, but the frantic question gets stuck in her throat, behind the knowledge that Yasu will not stay put, that the Ghost is still asleep.

She takes the dog, while Sōta, stronger than his scrawny arms suggest, takes the Ghost. 

The crawlspace under the house is a tight fit, the dirt here dry instead of muddy, and Sōta winces as he drags the Ghost through every bump. There is hardly room to straighten one's back, and Takeko curls around Yasu and holds her tight, fingers locked around her knife. Even crouched as he is, even scared and trembling, Sōta fusses over the Ghost's injuries as he settles. He has always been a good student to their grandmother.

Then Sōta freezes. So does Takeko. The distant voices rise, turn panicked, pained, like last time, and the house rattles above them as the wind rises too, storm scent riding on its breath. Takeko's fingers ache around the knife, ready, but Yasu whines softly, and the Ghost is hurt, and Sōta has no weapon. Takeko is only a girl, a child.

Sōta gasps, sudden and startling. Takeko has to crane her neck and back to see, a jumpy, sharp movement that makes her spine ache, and she finds the Ghost's eyes open.

He should be dead, Grandmother had said, and Takeko is not Sōta, but she knows that fever makes one sleep in ways that it is not so easy to wake up from. But though the Ghost's eyes are nearly as glazed as Father's had been, they are wide and open, blinking rapidly. He sits up as best he can, then moves deftly beneath the floorboards, crouched and agile, like there are no broken bones and lacerations. Sōta objects with a halfhearted, "Wait...," but it is as though the Ghost does not hear him.

The Ghost climbs out through the crawlspace hatch, and uneven, limping footsteps move across the floor, in time with the groaning of the house under another onslaught of wind. Takeko tracks the footsteps to the corner where they'd placed the Ghost's things, her heartbeat quickening into a thunderous dance, and she hardly thinks, as she shoves Yasu insistently towards Sōta.

Both dog and cousin protest, but Sōta has always been obliging. As soon as Yasu is locked in his arms, Takeko moves too: not towards the hatch, but towards the engawa and its front steps, the gray-white light streaming through the gaps beneath the house. She creeps and crawls and follows the sound of footsteps above her, the blood in her ears keeping time, and then she stops, at the very edge of the engawa, head thrust into open air, into the rushing wind.

There are too many Mongols to count, from where Takeko peers out, but one of the nearest stumbles back in sudden fear as the footsteps leave the stairs, as the Ghost's back enters Takeko's view. Something bright flashes through the air, and another Mongol curls into himself like a gurgling, dying spider. The rest surge forward, cries harsh, weapons drawn. Too many, Takeko thinks, flinching despite herself and yet unable to look away. The Ghost's leg is broken, and he'd been cut enough times to fell a beast, Grandmother had said.

And yet he walks with the swirling wind, as if such things are only passing concerns. He shifts, something small clenched in his hand, and when he slams it to the ground, the world explodes into dust.

But Takeko has always had an eagle's vision and an eye for hidden things -- even spirits, Mother used to say, when Grandmother couldn't hear her. She inches forward into the light, knife held close, and follows the flow of the wind, so that the worst of the dust splits around her. Even through the haze, her eyes track the Ghost's impossible movements, her knees unbending to bring her to her full height as she steps ever closer.

She has never had a head for healing and study, as Sōta has, but that does not mean that she cannot learn.

Here, in the open, in the gray light of a morning not yet free from storms, the number of Mongols does not seem so overwhelming. Takeko sees Grandmother in the distance, sees Uncle and a few of the farmhands, but the Ghost is faster than any retribution, and for the first time, Takeko is not afraid. She knows already, that blood smells like rusted tools, that bodies twist in strange throes when put to blade, and now she knows how the Ghost does what he does.

When the dust settles, the others in the distance stare, and so does Takeko. The Ghost stands motionless in the red-stained grass, chest heaving, listing to one side, as the wind settles around him. Takeko wants to say something, but her voice remains just beyond reach.

The Ghost turns back towards the house, as if aware of her scrutiny. His eyes are still glassy, when he meets Takeko's gaze. Empty, almost, like Father's had been when the glaze had passed, and Takeko's fingers grow numb around her knife.

Then the Ghost sways, though there is hardly enough wind left to stir a banner, before he takes one staggering step and pitches forward towards the ground once more.

* * *

He doesn't wake for a while after that, even though farmhands and cousins whisper enough to wake the dead. Grandmother says that he might sleep for days, so she resets and splints the bone once more, and Sōta rewraps the bandages, and voices at the windows mutter about kami and yōkai and ikiryō. Grandmother hushes them and scolds Takeko harshly for watching the fight, and Takeko cannot tell her that there was nothing to fear. She tells Yasu, relaying an account of the event in a scratchy, unused whisper, and she keeps watch each day, even as Grandmother and Sōta and other family and farmhands come and go.

When Takeko hears voices raised in the distance once more, they are not so urgent, though the wind stirs with them. It drifts through the house, and Yasu lifts her nose from the Ghost's leg, tracking the scent.

Takeko gets to her feet and follows it, Yasu at her heels.

Outside, a rider has stopped at the road, just beyond the stone walls. A woman, sitting upon a black horse, proud and straight-backed and bedecked with bow and arrows and sword. The sight sets Takeko's heartbeat to quickening again. The reins of a brown horse are attached to the saddle of the black, though no one rides that one. A few stray leaves dance along the muddy road, whipping between the horses' legs in swirling eddies of wind.

Grandmother stands near the stone wall, in a circle of faint lantern light, hands on her hips -- a sure sign of argument. A few farmhands hover nearby, uncertain.

"I need to know," the woman demands, glaring down at Grandmother. She must be very brave, Takeko thinks, creeping ever closer. "We fought together. This is his horse. It came and found me, and I tracked Mongol word to Komoda."

"Doing their dirty work?" Grandmother asks, unmoving as stone. "Or the jitō's?"

The woman dismounts, bristling with visible impatience, rounding the horse and then rounding on Grandmother. "I would have brought soldiers or samurai, if I was," she snaps, and Takeko can tell that she means what she says. She's looking for the Ghost. She's worried. Maybe Grandmother can't see it, but Takeko can. She's always had an eye for things. The woman has little regard for space or age, it seems, as she scowls at Grandmother, and Grandmother clearly does not take kindly to that. "I killed Mongol scouts on my way here. You're welcome for that." The woman does not back down. Neither does Grandmother. "He came through, or you wouldn't be lying to me about it. Where did he go?"

Takeko darts forward, before things can escalate, and grabs the woman's arm.

The woman blinks down at her surprise, and Grandmother takes a startled step backwards. At their feet, Yasu sniffs at the woman's legs curiously, not hostile and hardly even cautious, another sign that the woman is no threat. Takeko tugs, insistent, and no scolding follows, as if the words have been shocked out of Grandmother too.

Takeko almost expects some kind of scolding from the woman as well, if she is the type to get into Grandmother's face and argue. But instead, the woman lets Takeko tug, a sudden understanding taking root. "The Ghost?" she murmurs, nothing like the sharp, cold tones of a moment ago.

When Takeko nods, she finds herself having to jog to stay ahead of the woman.

In the house, in the back room, the woman comes to a stop, and Takeko nearly careens into her. Takeko remains where she is, at the edge of the room, as the woman takes a few halting steps forward and all but collapses at the Ghost's side, where he lies as still as ever on the spare mat. He hasn't woken yet. His injuries are starkly visible in the sunlight streaming through the windows.

The woman releases a shuddering breath. When she bows her head, her forehead comes to rest on the Ghost's chest, as if the weight of mountains curves her spine, as if her head is simply too heavy to hold up. It makes Takeko want to look away, like the sight is too much, too private and reverent, and yet she finds herself unable to, as if it locks her in place.

"Bastard," the woman mutters.

The stillness breaks, and a warm presence appears at Takeko's back, as the woman lifts her head. A hand brushes against Takeko's shoulder, soft and firm both, as only Grandmother's hands are, and Yasu ambles into the room and returns to the Ghost's side, curling up there. The woman reaches out an absent hand, trailing fingers through Yasu's fur, and Yasu leans into it, shifting her muzzle to nose at the woman's palm. Takeko decides that she likes this woman.

"They came looking for him," Grandmother says, at Takeko's side. The woman doesn't turn away from the Ghost. She only turns her head, just enough to look over her shoulder, to listen. Light pours through the nearest window, throwing the woman's profile into the sharp relief of a bird of prey. "He killed them."

The woman's eyes narrow.

"On a broken leg," Grandmother adds, pointed. "Enough holes poked into him to drain a barrel."

For a moment, the woman seems more sculpture than person, as rigid and straight-backed as she'd been upon her horse. Then she sighs, and her shoulders droop once more, as she heaves herself to her feet. "Thank you for looking after him," she says, turning and planting her feet. Defensive, protective, with the Ghost behind her. Just like Grandmother at the road, with the farmstead behind her. Just like the Ghost, with the house at his back.

"I saved him," Takeko croaks.

The breath leaves Grandmother like it's been struck out of her. She turns and gapes at Takeko, wide-eyed.

"I mean," Takeko adds, clearing her throat to get the words out, as the woman's sharp eyes study her, "I found him."

Grandmother's breath hitches, and Takeko doesn't know what else to say to make her point, but Takeko needs her to understand: that while the Ghost had protected Tsushima, and protected their farmstead, Takeko had protected the Ghost.

The woman's eyes narrow again, and her head tilts as she regards Takeko. "Thank you," she says, softer than Takeko is expecting. Her eyes flick downward, and Takeko realizes that the handle of her mother's knife is tight in her grip. She often finds her fingers there, as if that is where they are most comfortable, now. "You know how to use that?"

Takeko nods. The woman's head tilts again, in that disbelieving way that Mother used to do. That Grandmother often does.

"A little," Takeko admits, reluctant.

Something strained twitches up at a corner of the woman's mouth. "I could teach you," she says, but her gaze moves to Grandmother, as Takeko nods vigorously. A silent exchange passes between them, because adults often share things without speaking, and Takeko can't follow it.

Grandmother looks pale and worn. There is something misty in her eyes, as she glances at Takeko, and it seems as though words are stuck in her throat too. Until at last, Grandmother raises her hands and gestures aimlessly, as if in defeat. "Go on, then."

* * *

The woman's name is Yuna, and she stays with them too. Grandmother is insistent that the Ghost shouldn't be moved, and Yuna refuses to leave him behind, and for that, Takeko is secretly glad. They practice mainly with carefully chosen sticks, and Yuna teaches her how to hold her knife for utility and for combat, how to cut, how to strike, how to defend. Grandmother supervises some of it, with none of her usual scolding or protest. She watches them practice with something far away in her eyes, and it makes Takeko feel smaller than her years.

Until finally, Takeko returns to the back room and finds Yasu slobbering all over the Ghost's face, tail wagging madly.

"Yasu!" Takeko admonishes, not unlike Grandmother, and her voice is not so scratchy anymore.

The Ghost smiles faintly. He holds himself gingerly as he sits upright, wincing, and Sōta might find his color worrying, but he no longer looks like the dead. "She's no bother," he says, wiping at his cheek. "You're Takeko?" When Takeko nods, he adds, "Your cousin tells me I have you to thank for my life."

Takeko shifts on her feet, unsure of how to present herself, how to greet him. "Sōta and Grandmother too," she says, dutiful.

The Ghost has a kind face, nothing like the mask. His hands are kind too, as he rubs Yasu's head. "I didn't know if I would last long enough to reach help," he says, and he dips his head low. "So I thank you, Takeko."

There is much that Takeko wants to say, but words are still difficult, even if they flow a little easier now. She'd found him, yes, and Grandmother had been convinced that he'd die, but... "But you fought," Takeko says, slow and halting. She'd seen it, in the dust and the gray light. "You killed the Mongols. Even when you were hurt." She stops and steadies her breath, before it becomes a stammer. "How did you do that?"

There is no smile on the Ghost's face anymore. His hand falls away from Yasu, who snuffs unhappily at the absence. "I'm afraid I don't remember much of the past few days," the Ghost says, just as slow. Takeko wonders if she's offended him, because he looks away from her now, clearly troubled.

Footsteps creak on floorboards before Takeko can ask. " _Jin_ ," Yuna says, striding into the room. A distracted hand pats Takeko's shoulder in passing, but it's the name that catches Takeko off guard, even though Yuna has used it before. The Ghost is also Lord Sakai, the jitō's nephew, though perhaps no longer. There is no formality in the way that Yuna hurries to his side, in the way he leans towards her and looks up at her. "The boy told me you were awake. I--" Yuna stops, when she is crouched at eye level, and appears to regain some composure. "What happened?"

The Ghost -- Jin -- breathes out long and slow, his gaze far away like Grandmother's, like he is looking at something that isn't there. "A man on the road," he says. "He needed help, but... it was a trap. I walked into it." His face hardens, a little closer in curve and line to the black clay mask. "I couldn't save him."

"You can't save everyone," Yuna says, weary like they've had this discussion before, and the great weight returns to settle on her shoulders again, accompanied by a sigh. "You need to be careful."

Jin looks as happy about that as Takeko is, when Grandmother admonishes her for being reckless. "And turn my back on someone asking for help?"

"You know that's not what I meant," Yuna says, voice hard.

"Your friend is right," Grandmother's voice interjects, behind Takeko, above another long creak of the floor. Even with the Ghost present, with Yuna's keen-eyed bearing, Grandmother is the most striking person here, Takeko thinks, silver-haired and stern. Her eyes can't help but follow, as Grandmother comes to a stop beside her and places her hands on her hips. "But you don't strike me as cautious, Lord Sakai."

Jin looks contrite, as most do when confronted with Grandmother. Takeko is very familiar with that sort of thing, and it seems that even the Ghost isn't immune. "There's no need to address me like that," he says, soft.

Something odd passes across Grandmother's face, before she turns, smiling faintly down at her granddaughter. "Takeko," she says. "Sōta needs you. He is at the staff house."

It is very clearly a dismissal, and Takeko has never been as quick to obey as she should. But Grandmother looks tired and strained, more and more each day, and so Takeko departs. The quiet clack of claws trails at her heels, as Yasu leaves the Ghost's side to follow. Takeko is not _that_ good at listening and obeying, however, and she does as the farmhands do and makes her way to the nearest window, creeping low and light on her feet, as the Ghost does.

"-- hasn't spoken to us since my daughter passed," Grandmother's voice murmurs, when Takeko comes to a crouched stop beneath the window. "Only to the dog." The pause curls heavy in Takeko's gut, as Yasu snuffs at her feet. "You are welcome to rest and recover here as long as you need... Ghost."

"Thank you," Jin says, grateful in a way that Takeko would never have expected of a samurai. Or a Ghost.

"Sure you're comfortable with a spirit in your midst?" Yuna asks, funny in a dry way that Takeko likes.

Grandmother huffs, like when Yasu gets muddy and leaves paw prints in places she shouldn't, and Grandmother pretends to be more annoyed than she is. "I have seen enough of his blood to know that your Ghost is a man," she says. "Still. Be careful." Her voice rises, grows pointed. "You never know what might be _listening in_."

Takeko still has much to learn, then, about moving as silently as Ghosts do, but as she flees, Yasu forever loyal at her heels, she thinks that she hears a rare, weary laughter follow in her wake.

* * *

It isn't long before Jin struggles to his feet, against Grandmother's and Sōta's wishes. With the help of a makeshift crutch and Yuna trailing him dubiously, he goes straight to his horse, and Takeko follows them like a shadow. They don't seem to mind her company, and they don't seem to mind that she doesn't talk much, that she doesn't always want to take part in conversation, and so she observes, as the patchy brown horse greets Jin, and Jin leans against its neck and catches his breath.

"Found me all the way in Kubara," Yuna says, rather impressed. "Still don't know how." The corners of her mouth twitch upward. "You were right."

About what, Takeko isn't sure, but Jin strokes the horse's neck and looks thoughtful. "And with no samurai training to his name," he murmurs. "That's my Kaze." His face darkens, a cloud across the sun. "The storm separated us. By the time I got away, I didn't know where he was. I thought..."

Takeko holds Yasu firmly in her arms. A well-trained dog knows better than to get underfoot when horses are around, but teaching Yasu is a long and difficult endeavor. Takeko runs her fingers through Yasu's fur and watches as Jin doesn't finish the thought, as Yuna comes up at Kaze's other side and pats the horse's neck too.

"I thought you were dead," Yuna says, finishing the thought easily, her voice flat. "When he showed up. But he wouldn't settle, like he knew. So I kept looking."

Jin gives her a long look over Kaze's neck, and Yuna meets it, as though silent words pass between them. "I'm sorry for worrying you."

Yuna doesn't seem very impressed with that. "Tell that to the woman you've imposed on," she says, and Jin once again looks contrite. He isn't immune to Yuna either, it seems. "We've worried her enough."

Takeko's arms are tight around Yasu, and Yasu indulges her, even though the dog usually chafes at being restrained. "Grandmother is always worried," Takeko says, and both Jin and Yuna shift to face her. Under their attention, Takeko's throat is dry, but the words are easy. She's thought about them often, in the past few days, and they emerge with certainty as deep as the sea. "When I'm older, I'm going to be a Ghost."

Jin goes as still as he'd been in sleep. For a moment, his gaze takes on that far away distance again, like he looks at Takeko without really seeing her, and Yuna's eyes flick between them, a furrow settling in her brow. Takeko shifts on her feet, uncertain, because she isn't sure what's changed. Isn't sure why the air seems colder, the sunlight thinner, the shadows of the stabling more pronounced. The wind whistles through the wooden bars, low and mournful.

But just like that, Jin thaws. He meets Takeko's eyes, and he looks wistful, even when he tries to smile. It looks like he doesn't get much practice at it. "When you're older," Jin says. "But for now, who will look after Yasu, if not you?"

Yuna steps around Kaze. "That's an important job," she agrees, folding her arms and giving Takeko an appraising look. "Not many would put the work into her that you have."

Takeko considers it, as Yasu begins to squirm, as if she knows that she is the topic of conversation. Yasu is good at catching and driving away vermin, but most dogs are, and any dog could do that job. Grandmother often complains about how unruly Yasu is, and Sōta doesn't care to spend time with patients that aren't people. Mother would have liked Yasu, Takeko thinks, but Mother went away.

Takeko blinks and realizes that Jin is before her, leaning on his crutch. "It's not often you find a friend like that," he tells Takeko, scratching behind Yasu's ear, and the dog stops her wriggling for a moment. "Take good care of her."

Yasu twists in Takeko's grip, trying to lick Jin's hand, and Jin lets her. "I will," Takeko says, hefting Yasu a little higher, because they are right, because Yasu needs someone to look out for her. Because Takeko likes Jin and likes Yuna, and they speak so seriously, when most don't take an ill-trained pup very seriously at all. They know things that other people don't. They've seen things that other people haven't. Like Takeko does. Like Mother used to. Like Grandmother does, even though she is afraid of it.

Then Takeko glances to Yuna again. If she's going to keep looking after Yasu, if she's going to look after Grandmother, she's going to need the skills for it. "Can we practice some more?"

And Yuna, whose face has hardly cracked beyond the slightest of smiles since she arrived, shakes her head and laughs.

* * *

The Ghost heals fast. Grandmother shakes her head over it, muttering, but she and Sōta give their blessing for their Ghost and his vigilant shadow to leave, as soon as Jin is no longer in danger of tearing open his wounds or upsetting the progress of his leg. Takeko watches them go, long after Sōta swears that he can no longer see them on the road. Takeko can, though, even when evening light fades fast, and Grandmother stays with her.

For once, Yasu stays and sits at Takeko's feet, even when there are more tantalizing prizes beyond, even though she'd whined as the two horses had pulled away. The small bit of progress eases the sting, though Takeko knows it's silly, to feel so sad. Her new friends can't stay. The island is not yet safe, and the samurai hunt for them still.

It's when even Takeko can't see the distant specks anymore that Grandmother sighs and moves, and a weathered hand ghosts over Takeko's hair. Yasu jumps up, sensing the change in mood, and to Takeko's surprise, Grandmother reaches down and scratches gently at Yasu's head, before she pulls her arms away from them both.

"You'll have to show me what you can do with that now," Grandmother says, nodding to the knife in Takeko's belt.

Takeko's hand drifts up to the handle, and her thoughts drift to the makeshift training sticks that Yuna had made for her. "Yuna says... I have to keep practicing," she manages. It's still difficult to make her thoughts into words, and she's never known why. Grandmother has always seemed so sad about it, but lately, Takeko is beginning to understand that she has never been upset with Takeko herself. Something has changed, though, in herself, in Grandmother, and Takeko can't quite figure out what it is.

Grandmother nods towards the rest of the farmstead. "You've got cousins enough to practice on," she says, and her voice becomes conspiratorial. "Which one will we torment?"

Takeko had thought she'd be more afraid, after the Ghost left. But as they walk back to the house, Yasu at their heels, the farmhands and family trickling back in from the fields, Takeko holds on to her knife and listens to the wind whistle its promise of nighttime storm, and she finds the voice to answer.

**Author's Note:**

> It's very difficult to find accessible, reliable sources for lower class names from the period, so eventually I just said "fuck it," took Take- (竹) from Takeshiki Farmstead, and added -ko (こ) to the end. And then I learned that Takeko was the name of one of the last samurai in history, who was also a woman, which made me say "holy shit" out loud.
> 
> Anyway. I'm obsessed with the implication that Jin came back from the dead and is certifiably weird as a result, and also with outsider POVs, especially in the form of Weird Little Girls.


End file.
